mint

this is not Seamus Heaney’s "mint."

his grows low to the ground and has

the scent of earth in its veins.

the mint I know by heart is a mint

known by the sheer numbers of them, enough

to accommodate the interiors five times over.

these are the working class mints,

mints for the masses who labor by day,

some at the bobbins of the thread mills, others

on the road paving the way to a fundamental security.

here are the mints powered by sugar, colored by industry,

set to be seen by visitors to the house, presented there to the benefit

of its company.

Seamus Heaney's "mint" is found where he kneels to the soil

to snip it, to smell it, to present it for my benefit, but least of all

for display with the expectation of friends and relations.